Hole of Tears | 2416

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Hole of Tears

The other day someone said to me ‘Write what you want to read’. And as a piece of advice it’s really annoyed me. Because the only thing I want to read right now are fairy stories. So I’ve written one.

In the heart of the city, amidst the hustle and bustle, lived a man named Ivan. Ivan was like many of us, entangled in the web of modern life, his days consumed by messages, notifications, and endless TikToks. Despite this, each night as he lay in bed, he felt a quiet yearning for something more real.

One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting day at work, Ivan decided he needed a change. As the sky turned shades of orange and pink, he chose to step away from the noise and go for a walk. Checking his pockets—phone, keys, wallet—he left his flat and headed toward the river. It was a wonderful evening, with the water murmuring gently and the setting summer sun casting a magical glow.

By the river’s edge, he paused, the city’s noise fading into the background. On a whim, he stepped into the river. The water filled his shoes, and his jeans grew heavy and wet, but he continued, drawn by an inexplicable urge. As he waded deeper, he felt a strange sense of calm.

Suddenly, a small boat drifted toward him. In it sat an old man, his hair as white as snow and his eyes as deep as the river was long.

“Evening” the old man nodded, his voice gentle yet strong. “What are you doing in the river?”

“I needed peace,” Ivan replied, feeling a strange familiarity with the old man. “I just wanted to escape the noise.”

“Well,” the old man said, “Wade a little further in, and I’ll tell you a story.”

Ivan hesitated, then followed the old man, the cool water now lapping at his waist. He touched his phone through his jeans, reassuring himself it was still there.

“Once,” the old man began, “In a town much like this one, there lived a very busy man named Robert. A cartographer obsessed with creating the perfect map.  

He pored over his charts day and night and worked tirelessly, convinced that with one more correction, he would know where he was and where he was going. But the paths on his map always needed changing.”

The river’s water was now at Ivan’s chest, but he was so absorbed in the story that he barely noticed.

“Robert became frustrated, his mind a maze of confusion. He wandered the streets, eyes glued to his map, ignoring the world around him. The people he passed became like ghosts, their voices mere echoes. Then one night, under a moonless sky, Robert, looking at his map, not looking where he was going, fell down a hole.”

Ivan shivered as the old man’s voice wove a spell around him.

“Trapped in a deep hole, with only the distant sound of the city above, Robert shouted until his voice grew hoarse, but no one came. So, he sat down and cried, and his tears began pooling at the bottom of the hole.”

Ivan’s mind filled with the image of Robert, alone and desperate.

“Robert cried for what felt like days,” the old man continued “and his tears filled the hole. Slowly at first, but then higher and higher and just as he began to fear drowning, he remembered his map. Folding it into the shape of a paper boat, he placed it on the pool of tears. Climbing onto the makeshift vessel, he let it carry him upward, buoyed by his own sorrow.”

Ivan felt the weight of his own phone, like an anchor dragging him down.

“When Robert reached the top, he stepped out of the boat and onto dry land. Just as he reached to pluck the map-boat from the water, it sank. He realised he didn’t need it anymore. He had missed the world—the world with the hole that wasn’t on his map.”

Ivan suddenly realised the river was up to his neck. His eyes widened with fear, and he reached out for the old man’s boat, but it was gone. His phone felt like a heavy leaden weight dragging him down. He panicked and with a final, desperate breath, he pulled it from his pocket and let it fall into the murky water. Instantly, he shot up like a cork, as if a burden had been lifted from his soul.

The water now seemed to support him, a comforting presence. He kicked his legs and swam toward the shore. The cool water invigorated him until his feet found solid ground. Stumbling onto the shore, he was breathless but exhilarated.

Turning back to the river, Ivan thought he saw a rowboat disappearing around the bend. “Thank you,” he whispered, knowing the old man had given him a gift far greater than a simple story.

From that day on, Ivan walked through the city with his eyes up, not glued to his phone. He savoured the sights and sounds around him, smiling at strangers and noticing things he’d never seen before.

He did get a new phone, but he rarely looked at it. As he walked around the city, he watched where he was going, careful to avoid any potholes, thinking of Robert and his map. After all, what was he going to do? Although his new phone might be waterproof, it definitely didn’t float.